


i fall to pieces (when i'm with you)

by cerqlean



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (nothing happens though just sad feelings), 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Langst, M/M, Mild Suicidal Ideation, Pining Keith (Voltron), a small bit of smut, lots of hurt n lots of comfort, they are ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerqlean/pseuds/cerqlean
Summary: Five times Keith comforts Lance, and one time Lance comforts Keith.(Formerly titled: “stargazing (i’ll still look up”)





	i fall to pieces (when i'm with you)

**Author's Note:**

> i love my boys and also the title comes from cherry by lana del rey

**I.**

     Keith finds Lance leaning over the sink, at what was considered the midnight on the ship, staring at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror, tracing the dark circles—the ones he fights to keep away—under his eyes, his calloused finger tracing his sunken cheeks, and following the pronounced edge of his jawline. His expression is flat, distant as he regards himself, and Keith can feel the beginnings of a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He steps closer towards Lance, carefully, but he knows that Lance is fully aware of his presence. The sight is unsettling, to see Lance so emotionless when there is usually always a grin on his face. 

     “I’m different now,” Lance says suddenly, without looking away from himself, the sound startling in the dark, empty room. “I feel so different.” 

     “What do you mean?” Keith asks, doing his best to keep his tone light. He doesn’t want to sound hostile, and he’s not the best at comforting people, but he cares for the Blue Paladin enough to try. 

     “I don’t know.” Lance’s hand drops from his face and joins his other hand gripping the sink, knuckles turning white. He leans in close to the mirror and the stoic façade drops, replaced by an expression of such desolation that it makes Keith’s chest tighten. The brunet runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up further. Keith steps towards him again, and again, and again, until Lance can feel his breath on the back of his neck, and Lance feels himself tense, a shiver traveling involuntarily down his spine. He exhales softly. Two pale arms wrap around him, unsure and hesitant, and Lance leans forward, lets his head fall against the mirror with a resounding thud, eyes falling shut. He feels Keith’s weight on his back, his head resting right against the nape of his neck. 

     They stay like that a long while, perfectly still, until Keith moves to pull Lance from the sink, and Lance moves with him without resistance. Keith leads the way as they make their way through the halls, a heavy silence between them. Lance’s head is held high, jaw tight, eyes focused straight, despite the shaky tremor in his limbs. He refuses to show weakness. 

     “You’ll be okay?” Keith asks softly as the doors open to Lance’s room. Lance doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and Keith begins to wonder if he heard him. 

     “Yeah,” Lance replies, stepping over the threshold and into his room, then turning to face him, the seriousness of his expression now relaxed into something resembling exhaustion. Keith can see the hopelessness in his eyes, the tiredness and resignation of having to deal with the burden of the universe on his shoulders. “Yeah.”

     As Keith turns away, the doors hissing shut behind him, he hears, soft enough he believes he imagined it, “Thanks.”

 

** II. **

     Keith is not used to it, not used to seeing Lance so _sad_ sometimes. He self-destructs, Keith notices, by keeping things to himself or going a day or two without eating or not speaking up when his injuries are serious.

     (No one else seems to notice the way—except Hunk—Lance disappears for hours sometimes, only to emerge with a puffy-face and a forced grin.)

      It's during one of these spells that Keith decides that he’s going to go see what Lance gets up to all alone, by himself. It’s not healthy to isolate yourself, he decides as he marches towards his neighbor’s room, ignoring the part of his mind that whispers _hypocrite_.

     The door opens before he can even knock, and he is stunned by the image of Lance sitting on his bed, his expression blank. The only motion is the fiddling of Lance's sheathed bayard twisting through his fingers. His room is awash in moonlight, _he_ is awash in moonlight (perhaps not, but the whitish glow only reminds Keith of the moon’s glow, and only reminds Keith how beautiful he is), and it only serves to highlight the sharp edges of Lance’s face. 

     Keith feels breathless. 

     Lance looks up at him, jostled out of his trance by the metallic sound of the door opening, and his face twists into one of struggle as he fights to keep the emotion off his face. Ultimately, he ends up losing, his eyes pleading Keith, _don’t go, don’t go_.  

     “I won’t,” He replies breathily, shoulders sagging. Lance always wins. 

 

** III.  **

     The third time Keith finds himself comforting Lance, Lance ends up pressing kisses down his neck and collarbone, and he doesn’t stop him. Keith surrenders under him; _this is everything I’ve ever wanted_ , he thinks. Lance makes quick work of their clothing, and he takes his time with Keith, so gentle and so loving, it makes Keith’s heart seize painfully in his chest. 

     He would do anything for Lance, he realizes.

     Lance has him spread wide on his bed. He pushes slowly into him, and Keith needs to pause to breathe, looking up at Lance, unfocused as he bottoms out. Vaguely, he has enough shame to feel dirty doing this under the cross hung around Lance’s neck, but he finds that it vanishes to the wind as Lance begins moving with Keith in time to an imaginary rhythm, and it’s _so good_. Keith is unable to feel or think anything, eyes rolling back and his vision blurry as Lance rocks against him. Lance is breathing heavy above him, groaning low, the grip on Keith’s hips tight, and Keith is babbling, he knows, the feeling of fullness and _Lance_ something he will never be able to forget. He is addicted, he will never be more satisfied than he is in this moment. 

     When Keith comes, it is explosive, with a desperate shout of Lance’s name. The sight of Lance’s eyes, pupils blown out and hooded, into his own hazy ones will be a memory that will bounce around his head for days.

 

* * *

  

     Keith is awoken in the morning by the slick heat of Lance’s mouth on his cock. 

He doesn’t see Lance for 3 days after that. 

 

** IV. **

Space is beautiful, in retrospect. It’s appeal significantly decreases when you’re surrounded by it all the time, when it’s the only thing you can ever see anymore. At that point, it all just looks the same, blends together in a hazy cloud of nothing, and Lance’s mind is blank when his shoulders begin to shake, breath coming out in short punches that he attempts to control.

     The sight of space sickens him sometimes, like now when he sits in the observatory, knees to his chest, staring bleakly out into the nothingness. It surprised him; he was doing exactly what he was training to at the Garrison—being a fighter pilot, being a _hero_. But here, he feels even smaller, even more inadequate than he did on Earth, which, he reasons, is crazy, because _I have so many people who love me here, a purpose,_ my _purpose_.

     The thought is immediately buried under a thousand new ones, bad ones, ones that whisper to him, get to him, feed the dissolving self-worth inside him.

 

* * *

 

     Keith finds him in the observatory (where Lance seems to come a lot, he notes), and comes to sit by him, wordlessly, slowly folding his legs underneath himself. The paladin feels a pit of despair blooming in his stomach, climbing up his throat. It pains Keith to see the brown-haired boy so broken, so _unlike_ _himself_. As he sits there silently, the only audible sound Lance’s rapid breathing, it occurs to him that he loves Lance. It dawns on him slowly as he observes the stars passing by, the occasional astroid hurtling by. 

     “Lance,” he says hoarsely, turning his head halfway to look at him out of the corners of his eyes. His hair falls over his face but he doesn’t bother pushing it out of the way. Lance’s head turns towards him, and Keith gets a good look at him properly for the first time. 

     There is nothing beautiful about the way Lance looks right now; his face is puffy and red, there are tear stains down his cheeks, and his hair is disheveled. Even so, Keith is struck with the sudden urge to kiss him. He shifts his entire body towards Lance and leans forward, both hands reaching up to smooth Lance’s hair back from his face. 

     “Hey,” Keith rasps, and slowly lets his hands slip down to cup Lance’s jaw, and he leans in close, breath stuttering. “We’ll be okay.” As Keith says it, it’s a strange feeling of liberation that overcomes him; they are words that need to be said out loud, words that need to be repeated in order to be believed. Lance’s eyes close shut as he bridges the gap between them. It is chaste, nothing like the passion they shared that seemed so long ago. As they pull apart, foreheads touching, Lance’s lips upturns in the cockiest grin Keith has ever seen. It makes his heart stop.

     Keith encourages Lance to talk to him, the best he can. And when Lance passes his burden onto Keith to share, Keith takes it gladly, willingly, reeling in the delight of being trusted like this, of being close to someone. 

     They fall into a comfortable silence, leaning onto each other, watching the outside world pass by until they doze off, slumped together.

 

** V. **

     Keith discovers a pile of folded up paper shoved under Lance’s bed. They are not sealed, but are stacked neatly under the bed. However, when Lance had gotten up and off the bed to go to the bathroom, the movement rustled the papers and caused them to peek out from their hiding spot, taunting Keith. Tentatively, he reaches for a sheet of paper lying haphazardly on the floor, flipping it over to skim the first couple of lines. 

     Keith feels his stomach drop and his heart twist as he drops the paper he was holding in order to grab another one.

      _Dear Mamá_ , they read. 

     He gingerly picks up another one, and another one, until Lance is standing over him, body stiff and eyes angry. 

     “What do you think you’re doing?” Keith hears him ask, voice tight. Keith jumps, too engrossed in reading, that he drops the paper and crushes it in his haste to stand up. Lance’s eyes ( _god, his_ eyes _)_ fix sharply, eyebrows drawn together, on the paper as it rumples, then drag back up to Keith, jaw moving.

     “Hold on,” Keith starts, “I just—“ 

     Lance cuts him off, says, “Get the fuck out.” His words are clipped, and his gaze darts back down. He refuses to look at Keith, fixed on the crumpled piece of paper.

     “Lance, I—“ Keith tries, frowning. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

     “Get the fuck out, Keith!” Lance shouts, brows knitted together. He looks livid, arms dropping to curl into fists at his sides. Lance’s eyes water with frustrated tears, and he can feel his throat closing up. Keith slouches forward and stares at him, frozen, not sure what to do. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he bends down to pick up the paper he stepped on, peering at it. He smoothes it out once on his thigh, spreading his nimble fingers over it to work out any creases.

     “Dear _Mamá_ ,” he reads out loud, glancing up at Lance, who looks ready to knock him out. 

     “Fuck you, give it back,” Lance pleads, voice cracking. “Don’t read that.” Fingers twitching, he yearns to grab it out of Keith’s hands, but is too afraid to ruin it more.

     Keith clears his throat. “Dear _Mamá_ , there is someone I love. I wish you could meet him.” Keith’s fingers tighten on the paper as his voice falters. Lance hasn’t moved. “He is the only reason I am still sane in this hellhole of a war.” Keith skims the next line before he looks at Lance. Lance looks _wrecked_ , eyes red and face creased. “His name is Keith and I love him.”

     It’s a blur.

     Keith ends up cradling Lance close to his chest, who presses his wet face into the fabric of Keith’s shirt, breath hiccuping. 

     Keith strokes his back and leans his forehead on his shoulder, rasping, “ _It’s okay, I’m sorry, I love you too, Lance,”_ over and over and over again until he is boneless in Keith’s arms.

  

** VI. **

     Keith rubs the heels of his palms harshly into his eyes, desperately willing the lump in his throat gone and the shake in his shoulders to subside. He takes several deep breaths to try and calm himself, gripping the controls of the small ship tightly.

     He realizes that if Lotor hadn’t shown up at that moment, he wouldn’t be alive.

     The thought of dying is something he keeps secret in the darker part of his mind, something he entertains the notion of but never acts on.

 

* * *

 

     When he returns to the Castle, chin-up, shoulders squared, he immediately retreats to his old room, sinking into the familiarity of his mattress. 

     Within five minutes of him laying down, Lance bursts in, flushed and angry. 

     “Keith!” He barks, in a tone that has Keith scrambling up, eyebrows knitting together. Lance stalks closer to him and Keith opens his mouth to snap at him, but is interrupted by the dull pain of the side of his face as Lance throws a punch at him. Keith is stunned, but instantly snaps into reality, grabbing Lance’s fist before he can throw another. Lance struggles to wrench his fist away, stumbling back when Keith shoves him. 

     “What the hell is your problem?” Keith shouts, pushing Lance again. Lance staggers forward to push back, voice pitching to another octave.

      " _My_ problem?” He demands. “You— Who do you think you are?” Lance’s fists uncurl at his sides as his adrenaline ebbs. “You think you’re allowed to kill yourself? I don't care how selfless you thought that was, that’s not _cool_ , Keith, what were you thinking?”

     “I wasn’t trying to be cool, Lance,” He growls, leaning towards the other boy. “If I hadn’t done what I was going to do, Voltron wouldn’t be alive.” He glares at Lance. “ _You_ wouldn’t be alive.” 

     Lance flails his arms, bewilderment plastered onto his face. “Oh, and you thought _killing yourself_ was the answer? What would we do without you, Keith? What would _I_ do without you?”

     Keith’s voice drops to a gravelly whisper as he says, “You don’t need me and neither does Voltron. I don’t have a place on the team.” _Or with you._

     “Are you insane?” Lance scoffs, crossing his arms. “Of course you do.” He squints at Keith, scowling. “You might not be actively apart of Voltron right now, but you’re our family, Keith, whether you like it or not. You’re an amazing strategist—“ Keith feels his throat tighten again, blinking rapidly to expel the tears gathering in his eyes—“and an even better fighter. It’s bad enough we barely ever get to see you, and now you wanted to _die_? I don’t understand,” Lance says, fighting to keep the emotion off his face. “You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

     Keith’s next breath escapes as a sob, and another one follows it, until he and Lance are sitting on the floor curled the same way they were a couple nights ago, reversed. _Ironic_ , he thinks vaguely, but mostly it’s “ _I’m sorry_ ,” that he repeats, clutching onto the paladin armor Lance was still wearing, doing his best to _stop crying, goddamnit, Keith._ But as Lance whispers softly to him, carding his fingers through his hair, it only makes it worse. Everything pent up for the past weeks is tumbling out of him now, and he is unable to stop the stuttered breathing and the tears that gush out. Keith tells him everything through hiccups, how abandoned and useless he’s felt lately, how he feels like he doesn’t deserve anything or anyone and how he feels like it wouldn’t matter if he was here or not. Lance tells him a mile-long list of reasons he _does, does deserve everything in the world_ and how _Voltron wouldn’t be Voltron without you_ and how _amazing you are_ and he repeats it over and over and over and over again until Keith is coherent enough able to feel white-hot shame shoot through him—he just had a mental breakdown in front of _Lance_.

     "God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Keith says, jerking away from Lance. He roughly drags his palms over his face and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m dumb, this is dumb, I’m sorry,” he repeats, a flush of embarrassment spreading from his cheeks to his ears. 

     Lance reaches over to him, grabbing his arms firmly and pulling him back. “Keith, it’s okay,” he says firmly, staring directly into Keith’s eyes, the storm in them knocking the breath out of Keith. 

     He’s never loved anyone this much in his life. 

     “Please tell me next time,” Lance says, pained. “I never want to see you like this. God, I wish I knew you felt like this.” He runs his hands up and down Keith’s arms, chewing on his bottom lip. “I want to help you. I’m always here for you, God, please tell me next time, please let me help you, I don’t care if it’s four AM, I’ll wake up, I—“ He breaks off, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. _I love you._

     Keith nods furiously, relief washing over him in waves. He hugs Lance, tight, pushing his face into his neck, the hardness of the paladin armor that Lance was still wearing prodding his cheek. Even through the armor, he can smell the spicy cologne that Lance wears, the freshness of his skin, can feel the warmth coming off him. Lance holds him back just as tight, his long fingers wrinkling the Blade of Marmora uniform as they twist into it. They stay like that for several long minutes, just breathing. 

     “I love you,” Keith says finally, when Lance pulls back, but he doesn’t let go of him. His voice is hoarse, face puffy but eyes dry. 

     Lance smiles at him so brilliantly that the every sun in the universe can’t compare, pink lips stretching over perfect teeth. 

     “I love you too,” Lance whispers, leaning forward to knock his forehead against Keith’s.

     For a moment, Keith believes his own words— _We’ll be okay._


End file.
